Through Closed Doors
by leavinghope
Summary: Sally Donovan perceives the true nature of the relationship between Sherlock Holmes and John Watson, even when they do not. A set of missing scenes from Series 3.
1. Crime Scene Integrity

Sergeant Sally Donovan shook her head as she surveyed the media crews set up outside the crime scene. She got on her phone.

An irritated voice answered. "Lestrade."

"Sorry, Greg, but the gang's all here."

"Shit. Can you hold them back until I get there?"

"I'll try."

Sally straightened her jacket and pushed her long hair out of her face before walking out of the building's entrance. She was immediately swarmed by reporters, the bright lights of the cameras contrasting painfully in the deepening twilight. She held up her hand with her ID to make them quiet down and said, "Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade will be out here to brief you shortly. I will not make any additional statement. We thank you for your patience."

Ignoring the loud chorus of questions, Sally turned to re-enter the building, but one shout caught her attention.

"Sally!"

She turned to observe a petite blond woman pushing through the crowd. She seemed vaguely familiar to Sally, but not someone she place easily. Certainly not someone who should be on a first-name basis.

It had already been a very long day, hell, a very long week, and Sally let it show in the tone of her voice. "I said I wouldn't be making a statement."

The blonde laughed. "No, I'm not a reporter. I'm Mary Morstan."

"Am I supposed to know who you are?"

A hard look flickered across the stranger's face before she let out a self-deprecating laugh. "Sorry, I thought he would have mentioned me. I'm John Watson's fiancee."

The two women shook hands. "Nice to meet you," said Sally. "Sorry to start off on the wrong foot."

"Oh, I should be the one apologizing. I know you've been working on this case for days."

Sally was exhausted._ Challenging_ did not even begin to describe this case. A seemingly straightforward murder turned into a search for a corporate spy and finished with torture and an attempted professional hit. The assassin had been killed while the spy was recovered from the office where she was being held prisoner. After a week pursuing this case, all Sally wanted to do is get back to her flat and soak in a hot bath for hours.

Sally sighed. "What can I do for you, Ms. Morstan?"

"Mary, please."

Sally responded with a tight smile.

"Are the boys still inside?"

"Yeah, last I saw."

"Do you think I could go in and get John? We have dinner plans."

Sally waved her off. "No way. We get enough grief letting those two in, I'm not letting in more civvies."

Mary's smile was brittle. "You know Sherlock, though. He'll keep John in there all night. John is too kind-hearted to tell Sherlock he wants to leave."

"I've never known John to do anything he didn't want to do."

Mary rolled her eyes. "Please. Ever since John found out Sherlock saved his life, he's been unable to deny him anything. Sherlock has been taking woeful advantage of it." Mary touched Sally's elbow. "You know John is Sherlock's only friend, the only one who doesn't think he's some sort of freak."

Sally decided she did not like Mary Morstan.

Sure, she'd felt much the same way about Sherlock earlier on in their acquaintance. She warned John away from Sherlock half a dozen times. But then she witnessed John without Sherlock and now Sherlock without John. Neither man was complete without the other.

Sally was fairly certain that Mary knew this, too.

"How about I go in and tell John you're here?"

"Oh, thank you!"

"If you would please just go back and wait by the kerb, I'd appreciate it."

"Of course, thank you again for your understanding."

Sally smiled politely as Mary walked away. As the sergeant turned to enter the building, she met Lestrade on his way out. "They're all yours, boss."

Greg grimaced. "Oh, thanks."

"Are Holmes and Watson still inside?"

"Yeah. Why?"

For some reason, Sally did not want to mention Mary's presence. "I'll tell them about the media being here. That way they can decide if they want to leave out the back."

"That's DI thinking." Lestrade winked, and Sally playfully swatted his shoulder.

"Oh, shut it."

Sally was gratified for the improvement in her working relationship with Greg since Sherlock's return. Not that he had blamed her, no. In fact, Lestrade praised Sally's relentless pursuit of the facts when he had settled for Sherlock's word alone. But Sherlock's death introduced a coldness in their partnership. Sally was grateful for their renewed camaraderie.

The forensics crew had finished tidying up the crime scene, and the sound of their receding footsteps echoed in the otherwise empty corridor. As Sally approached the office door, she recognized Sherlock's deep voice. She peered inside.

Sherlock pointed to where the hostage had lain. Long coat swaying at his sides, he paced around the room, continuing to gesticulate broadly. John rested against the far wall, watching Sherlock with affection in his eyes and a gentle smile on his face. As Sherlock drew near John, the doctor made a comment that caused Sherlock to burst into laughter. He collapsed against the wall next to John, and they giggled like children.

There was a time when their laughter at a crime scene would have infuriated Sally. She'd seen too much bloodshed and devastation. Crime scenes made her sad and angry, motivated to right the wrongs done to the victims. That Sherlock treated the same crimes as a game had struck Sally as the symptom of a broken man, the sociopath he claimed to be. Then John Watson entered Sherlock's life, and Sherlock still treated crimes as fascinating puzzles, but he grinned when John praised him and delighted in John's laughter and appeared ten years younger when John made him giggle, and suddenly all Sally could see was the good man Sherlock had the potential to be. The man John Watson made Sherlock Holmes _want_ to be.

Shoulder to shoulder, Sherlock and John leaned against the wall, their laughter finally subsiding. Sally lightly knocked on the door as she entered the room. Both men pushed off from the wall, and while Sherlock straightened his scarf, John asked, "All done here, Sally?"

She nodded. "Your statements check out and we're done with evidence, so you're free to leave."

"Excellent." Sherlock paused before saying, "Good work, Sergeant Donovan."

Sally's eyes widened, but not as much as John's smile. "If we're free to leave, I must make sure the world's only consulting detective eats his dinner." John turned to Sherlock. "Chinese?"

"Thai. You're buying."

"Yes, I know." John placed a hand on the small of Sherlock's back and guided him towards the door. Both men stopped when Sally closed it.

"You'll want to go out the back way," she said by way of explanation. "There are press out in front."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and John said, "Thank you."

Sally indicated a glass door on the opposite side of the room. "That stockroom leads to a loading dock in alley. I'll call and have uniforms escort you to a taxi out the back."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes in suspicion, but Sally just shrugged her shoulders and said, "I can be nice sometimes, even to the world's only consulting detective."

John grabbed Sherlock's shoulders and pushed him towards the other door. "Thank you, Sally."

Sally smiled as the two men left the room, laughter trailing behind them. The lack of sleep and regular meals of the previous days were catching up to her, and she yawned as she made her way out of the building. Greg was still answering questions for the media, and Mary lingered at the kerb.

"Tobias!"

A young uniformed officer approached Sally. "Yes, Sergeant."

"Make sure Holmes and Watson get a cab in the back alley. Don't let anyone see them leave and make it quick."

The young woman responded, "I'm on it." As Sally watched her walk briskly away, she heard high-heeled footsteps approaching her from behind.

"Is John finished?"

Sally carefully schooled her face into a neutral expression before turning around. "Sorry, they must have left before I got back in the building." Sally touched Mary's elbow. "I'm sure John will contact you soon."


	2. Photo Evidence

Sally Donovan stood just out of sight of Greg Lestrade's office, trying to bring her laughter under control. After a few deep breaths, she walked through the open door and burst into giggles.

"You heard?" Greg asked, with a smirk on his face.

"They're in a holding cell."

"Yup."

"Since last night?"

"Oh, yeah." Greg taunted Sally with his phone. "I have photos from the police car."

"Hand it over."

Greg tapped his chin with the mobile. "Hmm… how bad do you want to see?"

"Oh, come on."

"Let me think about this for a moment … oh, the paperwork on the Flaherty case. That should do it."

The Flaherty case had been a straightforward homicide: crime of passion, complete confession, barely any extraneous paperwork at all. Sally laughed.

"Deal. You must really want to share."

Greg grinned and tossed his phone, which Sally effortlessly grabbed out of the air. There was an album full of dark blurry photos of Sherlock and John. Both seemed to be asleep, John with one arm around Sherlock, who had his head on John's shoulder.

Sally scrutinized one of the images. "Is Sherlock drooling?"

Greg chuckled. "Probably. Both of them were drunk off their arses. Never seen either one of them so bad off." He hesitated. "Well, not since…"

Sally knew Greg was thinking back to the times he found John buried in a bottle during Sherlock's years away. But this bout of drinking was undoubtedly something more innocuous in nature.

"Stag night?"

"Yeah," said Greg.

Sally caved in to her curiosity. "Don't take this the wrong way, boss, but you weren't invited?"

Greg shrugged his shoulders and smiled. "Sherlock wanted it to just be the two of them. He had something special planned." He paused for effect. "A bar crawl on streets where they had found corpses."

Sally thought for a few moments before responding. "I don't know what this says about me, but that's so romantic."

Greg's smile dimmed as he said, "Well, that's Sherlock."

"So what happened? Did they get thrown out of a bar?"

"No, the two idiots went on a case."

Sally's jaw dropped. "Seriously?"

"Yes, and a landlord didn't take too kindly to Sherlock vomiting all over his floor. Tried to throw Sherlock out."

Sally stared. "He didn't make the mistake of touching Sherlock, did he?"

"And now you know why John is in the cell, too."

Both detectives burst into laughter.

"So what did John's fiancée say when you told her?"

Greg rubbed the back of his neck with his hand and said, "Mary hasn't returned my calls."

"What?"

"I'm surprised, too. I called and left messages, plus I've texted her a few times. Never responded."

"That's strange. If I was marrying either one of those two and they were on their stag night, I'd be expecting a call from you."

"Perhaps that's why she isn't answering."

Sally shook her head. She had instantly disliked Mary, for some reasons clear to her and others not so much. Sally trusted her instincts, and they told her Mary was untrustworthy. But Sally figured that just meant that Mary was more than capable of lying and manipulating, not that she was a legitimate threat. She wondered why she got such a bad gut reaction from Mary not picking up her phone.

Greg sensed Sally's disquiet. "Maybe it was her hen party?"

Sally gnawed on her lower lip, then waved a dismissive hand. "Maybe. I'd still be too paranoid about these two to be out of contact."

"Perhaps she thought a night in a cell would give them time to repent for their sins."

Sally rolled her eyes. "Doubtful."

Greg smiled. "Let's go release them, eh?"

Sally and Greg walked down the drab corridors of New Scotland Yard. The news that Holmes and Watson were in custody had spread wide and far. Sally was amused by how many officers begged Greg to see the photos of the duo, and even touched at how Greg became protective and only shared with a select few.

"How have our boys been behaving?" asked Greg as he collected the keys from the desk sergeant.

The uniformed woman behind the counter laughed. "No complaints, can you believe it? I think they've been sleeping it off all night. Not a peep out of them."

Sally and Greg nodded at various passersby as they approached the holding cell. The solidity of its door was alleviated only by one narrow window. As they peered through, Sally realized that neither she nor Greg were prepared for the sight of the two men in the cell.

John slept on the floor, in a seated position. His head rested against the bench where Sherlock lay. Sherlock was curled close to John, with one hand resting on his shoulder. One of John's hands was clasped over it.

Sally whispered, "You know what they say about alcohol making you to do things you wouldn't do sober." She nodded towards the sleeping men. "They're cuddling."

Greg's voice was quiet and sad. "Yeah, they are."

Sally thought about all the times Sherlock showed up to crime scenes alone since his return. The times John appeared unexpectedly and Sherlock could not hide his delight. She thought of the defeated man John had become in Sherlock's absence and his resurgence with Sherlock at his side. She hated to disturb their peace. "Look, both of them are going to feel like shit when they wake up. How about we just let them be content like this for a while longer?"

Greg appraised Sally thoughtfully. "I'll wake them before the next shift comes on. Put them in a cab to Baker Street where Mrs. Hudson can take care of them." He shook his head. "Too many people have photos on their phones. John is going to kill me for this."

"Seize the opportunity, boss. Make folks pay you to keep the photos' existence from those two."

Greg laughed. "If it's too bad, I'll just ask Mycroft wipe the phones from afar."

"My-who?"

"Mycroft Holmes, Sherlock's older brother."

"And he can do things like wipe personal data from phones?"

Greg met Sally's gaze steadily. "Yes."

The unorthodox investigations. The drugs. The faked death. The lack of consequences. Sally considered the confidence Greg was expressing in her and decided not to push further. "That explains a lot."

"Oh, you have no idea." Greg turned away from the door. "I better return these keys."

Sally waited until Greg had walked back to the desk sergeant before taking out her own phone. Through the narrow window of the closed door, she took a photo of the two men, comforted in their closeness, thinking that some day Sherlock and John might need this memory.


	3. Toxicology Report

"He's using again?"

Sally Donovan burst into Greg Lestrade's office.

Slicing his hand through the air in a quieting gesture, Greg responded in a low voice. "Shut the door."

Closing the door behind her, Sally faced the grim man sitting behind his desk. Although he'd just returned from a weekend off duty, Greg looked like someone who had not slept in days, and Sally knew the answer before she asked the question again.

"Well?"

Greg sighed. "What have you heard?"

"Just that a drug test for one S. Holmes was submitted at Bart's today."

Greg appeared surprised. "How did you hear confidential medical information?"

"I'm a detective, if you'll recall. I have my sources."

"Sally…"

Just so there could be no misunderstanding, Sally asked one more time. "Is he using again?"

Lestrade toyed with the NSY coffee mug on his desk. "He claims it was for a case."

"Jesus, Greg."

"I know, I know."

Sally slammed her fists down on Greg's desk, rattling the coffee mug and the rest of the mess. "All these cases he's been working on with us could be thrown out."

"I know!" Greg yelled, then immediately slumped in his chair. "I know. Sorry."

Sally recognized his contrition and also his deep worry for the man he considered a friend. She stepped back from the desk and exhaled a long, calming breath. "Do you believe him?"

"That he used? Unfortunately, yes."

Sally pressed. "That it was only for a case?"

His tone a touch too casual, Greg asked, "Why else would he go back on drugs?"

_Nobody ever says it_, Sally thought. _Nobody ever says it, but that doesn__'__t make it go away. Somebody has to say it. Why not me?_

"Don't give me that shit. Just a month after Watson gets married? You expect me to think that's a coincidence?"

Greg waved a dismissive hand in her direction. "I know what it looks like..."

Sally cut him off. "What it looks like? Sherlock is clearly in..."

This time, Greg interrupted Sally. "Just stop." He paused. "Please, I need to talk to Sherlock. And look at the numbers in the test results."

"You have a source at Bart's." Sally said gently, knowing of Greg's quiet affection for Molly Hooper.

"Yeah, and my source didn't file an official lab test report, so I'm not sure how your source got this information."

The back of Sally's neck started to tingle. "Who else was there?"

"According to Molly, John brought him in and..."

Sally interjected, "Was John's wife there?"

"Yeah, I think John mentioned Mary was with them."

"Hmm."

"What?"

Under her breath, Sally muttered, "Did she leak it? Did he know she would leak it?"

"I couldn't quite hear that."

Sally shookher head. "Nothing."

"Now who is talking shit? Tell me."

Arms crossed in front of her, Sally gritted out, "I just don't like her."

"When have you even met her?"

Sally evaded Greg's gaze. "She's shown up to scenes a few times, looking for John."

Greg was puzzled. "You never mentioned that."

Sally shrugged one shoulder. "Yeah, well."

"So why don't you like her?"

Sally pursed her lips and then launched into a rant. "First time she showed up, she tried to manipulate me based on things John probably told her about me. Called Sherlock a freak, said he takes advantage of John. You know, the things I used to say about Sherlock." Sally flung open her arms in frustration. "She rubbed me the wrong way. My instincts tell me she's bad news, so I never got around to letting John know she was there."

Greg smiled for the first time that evening. "You didn't let Mary interrupt their time together?"

"Those two, they just..." Sally sighed and folded her arms across herself again. "They need each other, you know?"

"I know." Greg ran a hand over on his face. "Molly and I have been worried that something like this would happen ever since Sherlock left the wedding early."

"He did?"

"What a wedding." Greg smiled faintly in remembrance. "I bet you've heard about the murder attempt. I think that's why nobody is talking about Sherlock's best man speech. He actually said he loved John, that John had saved his life. He was so open and raw. Later he played the violin for John and Mary's first dance. I don't know music, but while the melody was nice, the chords or tone or whatever was melancholic. And then he left."

Sally responded quietly. "I think we all knew it would be rough on Sherlock."

"He left his violin behind."

Sally lifted an eyebrow.

"You don't know him. He'd never leave his violin behind if he were thinking rationally. That violin is an important part of his life, his emotional outlet, if you ask me."

"Oh, no."

"Yeah."

The phone on Greg's desk rang. He made no move to pick it up.

"Molly says that he turns up at her flat, sleeps there sometimes, just to get away from Baker Street."

"Bet her fiancé loves that."

A sheepish grin appeared on Greg's face. "Um, they ended it."

Sally smirked. "Is that so?"

"Stop it."

Grateful to have something less painful to discuss, at least momentarily, Sally could not help but tease Greg. "Just ask her out already, or I will set the two of you up and make it extra awkward."

"I'm much older than her."

"And neither of you are getting any younger."

"She's been pining for Sherlock for years. What would she see in me?"

Sally smiled. "You fishing for compliments now? You're attractive, intelligent, kind, and honest. What's not to love?"

"I'm assuming my ex-wife has a list."

"I'm pretty sure you have a longer list about why you should have ditched her years ago."

Greg raked a hand through his hair. He paused, searching for the right words, then heaved a sigh. "I don't want to jeopardize our professional relationship."

Sally knew that he was tiptoeing around her short-lived liaison with Phillip Anderson. She had no regrets. Phillip's marriage had been crawling to its end, and Sally had an occasional itch that needed to be scratched. She was content without being in a relationship. No commitments, no demands, no one to disapprove of her long workdays and the accompanying sleepless nights. Friends with benefits worked for her at this stage in her life. Men like Greg, however, were less practical and more romantic. Sally saw nothing wrong with that, just that it wasn't right for her. She thought it was a damned shame that Greg's ex-wife had scuttled so much of his confidence.

"You're making excuses. You understand and appreciate her work, and Molly knows how much your career means to you. I think your professional relationship has built a foundation for something that could be really special."

Greg's phone rang again, as he struggled to come up with a response and failed.

After the phone rang into silence, Sally said, "I know it's none of my business, really, but I think that you and I could name at least one, actually two, men who right now have regrets about the things they should have said and done. I just don't want you to be another one to add to the list, okay?"

"I know," said Greg, barely loud enough to be heard over the insistent ringing of his phone.

After this third instance of Greg ignoring the phone on his desk, Sally asked, "Are you ever going to answer that?"

"I've been off duty since dinner. Don't want to pick it up in case it's CS Crawford or a reporter."

The press. In her concern for their criminal cases, Sally had forgotten all about the press. She took a deep breath and asked, "What are we going to do?"

"We?"

"I'll have your back on this, boss. I remember what happened last time."

Greg shot a meaningful look at Sally. "You keep me honest this time, too."

"Greg…"

"You were right. My friendship with that idiot led me to ignore crucial evidence. Just because it was planted doesn't mean it wasn't there. You call me on it, you hear me?"

Sally smiled. "Always a pleasure to tell you when you're wrong."

Embellished with a rude hand gesture, Greg responded, "Thanks. I really need to talk to John, but he hasn't returned my calls yet."

"I'm sure he's been busy dealing with Holmes today."

Sally's mobile rang and she promptly answered it. "Donovan." Her eyes widened. "Thanks."

Picking up on Sally's tension, Greg asked, "What?"

Sally thumbed off her phone and started moving towards the closed door. "I'm sorry, Greg, but Sherlock's been shot."


	4. Orders of Protection

"You don't tell him."

Through the partially closed door, Sally glimpsed Mary leaning over an obviously distressed Sherlock.

"Sherlock? You don't tell John."

Sally knocked and entered the room.

"I'm sorry, am I interrupting something?"

Mary aimed a smile at Sally. "No, not at all. I'm just keeping Sherlock company while John gets a bite to eat at the cafeteria. He's barely left Sherlock's side since he was brought in."

Sally responded earnestly, "That doesn't surprise me."

"Nor me." Mary looked down at Sherlock. "John has always worshiped you."

Sally felt the strange tension in the room. Sherlock's eyes seemed oddly pleading to her. "Sherlock, I know you must feel like shit, but I have a few questions for you, if you're up to it."

Sherlock wearily nodded, but said nothing. Instead, Mary spoke, "Sherlock was just telling me he did not see his shooter, isn't that right, sweetie?"

Mary patted Sherlock's hand. He shakily drew back from her touch, so weak he could barely move at all. Witnessing this exchange, Sally knew she needed to get Mary out of the room. "Do you think you could get John for me? I have a few more questions for him after I talk to Sherlock."

After the slightest of hesitations, Mary agreed. "We'll be right back. I know John can't wait to return to Sherlock's side."

Sherlock sank deeper into his bed, his body language showing relief. His mouth moved, but no words came out.

"You okay? What do you need me to do?"

His pale hand lifted a few millimeters from the bed, reaching towards the morphine drip.

Sally moved over to the device. "You need more pain medication?" She looked at the numbers and jumped into action. "Jesus." Sally started depressing the buttons, lowering the dosage. "Who the hell thought this was an appropriate dose? My mother had a drip when she was in hospice care, and she never reached these levels even right at the end."

A barely audible whisper. "I think Mary adjusted it."

"Isn't she a nurse? You'd think she'd know what she was doing."

"She does."

Sally contemplated the implication of his words. She straightened from the morphine drip and turned back to Sherlock. "Was she threatening you?"

Sherlock grimaced. "You didn't come here to ask questions about Mary."

_Now I__'__m not so sure about that._

"I'm going to be blunt, so I can leave you to recover. You were shot in your chest from close up. Can you identify your shooter?"

"No, I cannot."

"Cannot or will not?"

Sally's question was met with silence as Sherlock closed his eyes.

"I know we're not friends, but even if I wasn't a cop I'd still hate to see you in this much pain."

"Thank you, Sally."

Sally smoothed the sheets at the foot of his bed, an opportunity to inspect his arms. "You using again?"

Sherlock gave a grim smile. "You heard."

"Look, Lestrade argued damned hard to get you back in the Yard's good graces. I'd hate to see him played for a fool."

"It was for a case."

"Just coincidental timing?"

Sherlock appeared confused by the question, so Sally continued. "Taking the edge off the pain of John's marriage?"

"No amount of cocaine in the world can do that."

Sally was stunned by the whispered confession. She knew he'd regret it if the meds allowed him to remember. To spare Sherlock embarrassment, she deflected, "Is it going to be a problem? With your addiction?"

"I'm a chemist by training, Sally. I dosed myself just enough so witnesses saw me use and a trace amount would show up for a positive test result. These few uses of cocaine will not likely be a long term issue." As he glanced down at his bandaged chest, Sherlock said, "The morphine, however…"

The pain of the gunshot wound would plague Sherlock for months. The morphine would be a constant temptation. Sally understood the allure, just a bit. In her line of work, she'd witnessed scenes that were hard to forget. She had more than a few battles with sleeping pills in her past. Nothing like reawakening an opiate addiction, however.

"You have friends, Sherlock. Greg, John… they'll help you, if you ask."

"I can't ask John, not now." Sherlock's voice trailed off, and his face was a mask of pure despair.

"Hey, let me show you." Sally pulled out her phone and scrolled through her photos until she found the one she was searching for. "Look at how you're holding hands, even sleeping in a cell. John loves you, Sherlock. He'll help you through this."

To her dismay, tears welled up in Sherlock's eyes as he drew her phone close. "He was so happy. He was so happy, and now he won't be, and it'll be all my fault." He pushed the phone back to her. "I should never have returned. He was better off with me gone."

"No, he wasn't. Trust me, he wasn't. John wasn't the same without you, Sherlock. He needs you and you need him, and that's what you'll remember each time the morphine calls, okay?" Sally reached out to grab his hand, and she was shocked to feel him squeeze it in response. "You can do this."

The door opened behind her, and Sally heard John say, "Holding hands? Those pain meds can indeed work miracles."

Sally squeezed Sherlock's hand one more time, then released it. She turned to John, "Where is Mrs. Watson?"

"Oh, she returned to our flat." John sat in a chair at Sherlock's bedside. "She knows I'll be here all night."

The pain Sally glimpsed in Sherlock's eyes was emotional, not physical. "I'll leave you two, then. Get some rest, Freak."

"Sally?" John asked. "Mary said you had a few questions for me?"

"I do, but now might not be the best time."

Sally observed the pale man who had succumbed to sedation and fallen asleep while she and John had been talking. She reached for her phone again, gesturing for John to view the display.

John leaned over and saw the image of him and Sherlock in the cell on his stag night. His left hand reached for Sherlock's where it lay on the hospital bed, but he pulled back and clasped his hands on his lap. He avoided looking at Sally, the phone, and most of all, the pale sleeping man at his side.

Sally bit back a gasp as she realized John was ashamed of the depth of his feelings for Sherlock. Sally thought of the adoring smiles, the pining looks, the lost chances, and she pitied John.

"For God's sake, just touch him, John. He needs you. He needs to know you're here. Let him feel you."

As if he had required permission, John grabbed Sherlock's hand. Sally gave John an encouraging smile, and he intertwined his fingers with Sherlock's. As she pocketed her phone, Sally said, "What is most important right now is that you heal him, John. He's going to have trouble with the morphine, you know he is, and he'll be stubborn about needing help." Sally squeezed John's shoulder. "You just concentrate on Sherlock, just focus on loving him, and Greg and I will do our best to find the bastard who did this to him."

Tears gathered in John's eyes as he nodded at Sally, then turned to Sherlock. Still holding his hand, John tentatively used his other to brush a few stray curls from Sherlock's forehead. Although he was in a deep medicated sleep, Sherlock pushed his head slightly into John's touch. With increasing confidence and comfort, John carded through Sherlock's hair. Sally saw Sherlock relax more deeply into the bed, and the tense set of John's shoulders slackened in reaction. John looked self-consciously back at Sally, who mouthed a silent "good night".

Sherlock's acerbity. John's trust issues. Sherlock's thoughtlessness. John's stubbornness. Sherlock's faked death. John's marriage. Of all of the possible reasons that the two men were not together, Sally had never imagined it could be internalized homophobia.

Sally closed the door behind her with barely a click.

She greeted the uniformed officers stationed outside of Sherlock's door and asked, "Which one of you has the approved non-family visitor list for Holmes?"

"I do."

Sally scanned his badge and said, "Let me see it, Gregson." Sally glanced at the very few names listed. She gestured for Gregson to follow her to the nurses station. "I need you to make an amendment."

"Yes, Sergeant."

"Right now Mary Watson is listed, but she seemed to agitate Holmes when she visited earlier. Let's add a note saying she can only visit if accompanied by John Watson."

Gregson laughed.

"What's so funny, Officer?" Sally frowned at the young man.

Gregson smirked. "She's probably just jealous. Always knew Holmes was begging for Watson's…"

Sally interrupted. "That's enough." She grabbed the list. "You're relieved from duty, and I'm filing a report. Get the hell out of my sight."

As Gregson left, Sally amended the list and affixed her signature. Then she stepped over to the other officer. "Tobias, I'll be joining you on guard duty until I can get another uniform down here."

"Yes, ma'am."

"I'm supposed to be back in the office, finding out who shot Holmes, not standing watch here." Sally growled in frustration.

"Yes, ma'am."

"You keep the list and don't let anyone in that is not cleared, do you hear me?"

"But what if…" The young woman stuttered to a stop under the strength of Sally's glare.

"What if?" Sally waited for Tobias to continue.

"What if it's a florist?"

"The entirety of Kew Gardens could be delivered to this door, and you'd bring every flower in itself."

"What if the person is higher ranking than you? Or with someone higher ranked?"

Sally tilted her head to stare into Tobias' eyes. "Nobody that is not cleared, do you understand me?"

"Yes, ma'am."

Sally shook her head when the young woman continued to call her _ma__'__am_. "You're making me feel old." Sally signaled with the mobile in her hand toward the end of the corridor and walked there for some privacy.

The first call was to New Scotland Yard, calling in an immediate replacement for Gregson. The second call was more awkward.

"Phillip? Hi, it's Sally." She started pacing back and forth in a small lounge still in sight of Sherlock's room. "Yeah, sorry for calling so abruptly, but it's actually about a case." Sally grimaced at the inappropriate enthusiasm in Anderson's voice. "Yup, Sherlock's shooting. Just thought I'd check in with you because your crew keeps tabs on the freak. Do you and your colleagues have any info for me?" She frowned as she listened. "Yeah, the CAM Global News building… how did you know that? Is it in the media yet?" Sally abruptly stopped pacing. "A few blocks away, really?" She glanced around and softly asked, "And you're sure it was Mary Watson?" She steadied her voice before she replied. "Uh, she was probably on her way to meet Sherlock and John. That's the only thing that makes sense, right?" A pause. "Right. Thanks."

Sally thumbed off her phone, as a new voice down the corridor drew her attention. Another uniformed officer had joined Tobias. Now that she had taken control of the immediate problem Sally could focus on long-term solutions.

Sally wracked her brain to pick out a name she'd heard in the past.

Her instincts about Mary were correct. But John would not ever see this, and Greg was too involved. Sherlock would not cooperate, desperate to protect John from any harm, emotional or physical.

It was a good thing that Sally was never intimidated by a challenge.

She experienced the satisfaction of having completed a stage of an investigation. Part of being a detective was evaluating when enough evidence had been collected to pursue a case. Part of being a good detective was relinquishing the pride of wanting the accolades for making the case. Part of being a great detective was the resourcefulness to know to whom the case would best be made, chain of command be damned.

And Sally Donovan was a great detective.

She walked back to the nurses station and flashed her badge.

"I need the contact information for Mycroft Holmes, please."


End file.
